Musical Chairs
by Dyslexic Angel
Summary: Zemyx and others, High school AU. You can't always pick the people you love, and love isn't always the same as understanding. When the music stops, the last man standing is the first to fall. REWRITE


AN: This is a re-write of the original Musical Chairs, which never got past chapter four, because I'd written myself into a corner I couldn't get out of. The characters are the same; the direction is similar, but the foundation is much, much, sounder. Updates will probably be quite slow, however, as I'm having one heck of a busy year and World of Warcraft has devoured my soul.

The first day of school has always made me nervous; I comfort myself (if that is the word) with the knowledge that the second day is worse. The fact that it was a new school, in a new uncomfortable state only made it worse. I had moved to the Destiny Islands perhaps a month before, and it had everything I'd ever wished for-- and was at the same time, too much. Too different. It was hot, here, for one thing, though the sea-breeze was sweet and took the edge off, but the humidity was strange after his hometown in what was, technically, a desert. Taking a breath of the soft air, a full breath, a singer's breath, I slipped out of the house.

I rode the bus to school; I did not speak to anyone and they did not speak to me. I was a strange figure, here-- a junior, clearly too old to be comfortable amongst the freshman, but not yet part of the cliques and groups with my classmates. Instead I watched the passing scenery, noticing the things that were the same more than the differences and wishing, briefly, that I were home again. When I got off the bus at school, I took one look at the milling crowd, and smiled. Just like home, here was a tangle of shoving bodies late for class.

I managed to find my first hour without much difficulty; it was "interpretive band", whatever that meant, and band rooms are a kind of universal constant, like cafeterias, that any good band geek learns to spot a mile off. I pushed my way through the heavy metal double doors a few minutes early, into a nearly empty room. Six people were sitting scattered around the odd, tiered room, and I tried to study them without meeting their eyes.

A plain girl with brown hair tied back sat to one side with her nose in a book; near her was another brunette wearing a fresh-from-the-salon look and a bored expression as she doodled in a notebook. An utterly nondescript blond boy was seated near the piano in the front of the room; the other people were very different, and gave off the vibes of people who are a little more crazy than cool, but no shortage of either. One, a boy who's age I couldn't place, was sprawled bonelessly over two chairs with his blue-tinted dark hair falling over his face; he looked dead, but utterly relaxed, and I found myself a tad envious. The other two people were arguing loudly, the only noise in the room.

"Axel, it's your own stupid fault! You deal with it!" The speaker was a slim, athletic looking blond boy with smoky eyeliner around his large eyes, which were currently narrowed in a dark scowl.

"But I don't know what to say! You've gotta help me!" This one had vividly red hair spiked into what looked like lethal weapons. Edging subtly around the two, unnoticed, I took a seat near the blue-haired boy. I felt eyes on me and looked over to see him watching me out of one dark, curious eye.

"Um... hi." I said, fighting not to avert my own eyes from that smooth, even gaze. He blinked, slowly, and I had the sudden impression that I had just failed some vital test.

"Don't mind Zex, he doesn't believe in mornings." I turned to see the redhead, Axel, watching me with a trace of sympathy softening exuberant good cheer. "You must be new, Zexion's hatred of getting up is legendary." I nodded, feeling shy in the face of Axel's apparently effortless confidence.

"I'm Demyx." I told him, not quite looking down but not meeting his eyes, either. I was startled when he stood and came over to me; the cheer on his face had toned down a bit, not dulled but softened, less overwhelming.

"I'm Axel." He introduced himself, voice also softened, and I found myself oddly thankful. "That's Roxas..." he pointed to the blond, who nodded. The motion—and his expression—were wary, sharp. "And this lump is Zexion." I turned to the figure in question, who waved once without re-opening his eyes.

"Zexion?" I asked, tasting the name. It was cool and sharp in my mouth, mint and rosemary, and it was he who answered me.

"Not the name my mother gave me, but the one I use." His voice startled me, low and mellow like a snatch of bass flute.

"Cool." I replied, and the word seemed hopelessly _un._

"As you say." I couldn't make myself look up, but I was certain he was smirking. Axel chuckled.

"Don't be too hard on the kid, he's new!" I was a little annoyed at being called a kid, but any reply I might have made was cut off by the bell ringing; when I looked up, Zexion was slumped just as he had been before, with no sign of having moved.

Then the teacher entered the room, slipping out of an office I hadn't noticed coming in. She was short; under five feet, but she commanded all attention effortlessly. The rest of the class had trickled in without my noticing, and quieted instantly under a gaze as sharp as flint chips.

"Most of you should know me already." She said flatly. Her voice was high without being shrill, piccolo and ginger. "Those of you that don't, I am Larxene, and that is what you will call me." She paced to the center of the room, and I realized she was holding, of all things, a stuffed star-shaped thing with a leaf sewn rakishly on. She hurled this at Zexion, who, despite having his eyes closed, caught it neatly. He sat up slowly, with an insolent smirk.

"Good morning, Miss Larxene. Your aim remains flawless." It struck me suddenly, how oddly he spoke. There was something formal, almost archaic about it. Then he ruined the image by tossing the stuffed thing back at the teacher, who snagged it out of the air with a small smile.

"Thank you for joining us, Zexion. Anyway, none of you have had this class before, so I'm going to skip the rules you should already know and tell you what we'll be doing this semester." Zexion was now sitting up straight in his chair, looking content. Awake, I couldn't help but study him more closely; his face was thin and pointed, cheekbones chiseled with a heavy hand. It was a strong face, pale and utterly comfortable with itself. His hair had probably been some shade of brown, once; now dark blue dye was fading out of it, leaving it an odd blue-gray color. Larxene began speaking again and I was forced to turn away, but his face lingered in my mind's eye.

"You're probably wondering what on earth interpretive band is about, right?" Several people nodded. "We'll all be figuring that out together, I'm afraid. All of you," she looked sharply at Zexion, as well as a few other people, "are either people who I've had before and had to choose between promoting and removing, or else you signed up for band as playing something weird. We've got a couple of you-- piccolo, two violins, electric bass, sitar—that just wouldn't work in any marching or concert band I can imagine, except on a loan basis. We also have last year's jazz band. Wave, jazz band, so they can know who to avoid." I was not surprised to see Zexion's hand rise in an ironic salute, nor more conventional waves from Axel, Roxas, and a few others.

"Anyway. What we'll be doing, these first couple weeks, is grouping up. We're going to be forming small, individual groups and I'm going to encourage you to try several things and different groups, see how you work with people, what sound you like. I expect to see a fair bit of switching, some people in multiple groups, and you're here to make music, not drama. I detest your teenage drama in my class, theater is that way in room 906 and transfer slips are on my desk. Anyone who needs one may go now; this is your only chance." Dead silence filled the room for a long moment, as Larxene studied us in the way one might inspect a carpet for moth-holes. I managed not to flinch as her eyes slid over me.

When she thought she'd let the silence linger long enough, Larxene smiled. The actual motion was barely perceptible, but the effect was striking. "All right then. You are now members of _my_ band; Behave yourselves accordingly." She gave us another long look, this one kind—almost maternal. "Alright, ladies and gents. Take this period to get to know each other, I'd better see instruments tomorrow." Larxene turned and retreated to her office, leaving her door half ajar. I looked at Zexion. Zexion looked at Axel. Axel looked at Roxas. Roxas looked at me. As the class burst into noisy chatter, I thought that this looked like the start of a really good year.


End file.
